HIERATIC 8

JULIA ROSE LEWIS

 
 

My dear apple,

I steal the color of falling leaves,

my dear pear.
 
The pah, the pinch pressing so sure,

the reading is intimidating
a slice of apple is held behind the lobe for ear piercing at home.
 
My host tree,

who is one-half the holding pattern, I want to feed you a pear,

slice by slice, you see a peer really?
 
Still this classroom, an earring catechesis
and a call to prayer,
steal this classroom, time and imagination indeed.
 
The bajoran earring is a symbol of faith
and family, my ideal reader,

my present from the arts gods, this is deep space indeed.
 
Planting apple trees in the fall, the cognitive unconscious

is a compost pile, the fruits of the present tense.

I steal apples from the woman in the orange jacket at my roommate’s garden party.

I steal pears from the man in the nantucket-red pants at the gallery event.

 

 
 

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